


Bearable fear (as opposed to what I go through with you)

by squillabird



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A little angstyness, Character Study, Explicit Language, Fluff, Homophobic Slurs, It's touches on fluffy too, M/M, Mickey Milkovich is head over heels in love with Ian Gallagher okay??, Mild descriptions of sexual situations, This probably qualifies as character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squillabird/pseuds/squillabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Of course Mickey’s still scared. He’s scared of the whore running her mouth and the fucking kid she claims is his, and how there are these weird dead eyes and a 6000 fucking miles/hour pace he’s never seen in Ian before. But none of it even comes close to how scared he use to be, because Gallagher’s not in some godforsaken dessert at risk of bullets through his scull or getting blown up or some shit.” </p><p>Deals with Mickey's feelings around 4x09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bearable fear (as opposed to what I go through with you)

Of course Mickey’s still scared. He’s scared of the whore running her mouth and the fucking kid she claims is his, and how there are these weird dead eyes and a 6000 fucking miles/hour pace he’s never seen in Ian before (and he’s also sort of very terrified of how his heart is more or less _beating out of his chest_ and how he can’t breathe with how hard his stomach loops whenever Ian so much as looks at him). But none of it even comes close to how scared he use to be, because Gallagher’s not in some godforsaken dessert at risk of bullets through his scull or getting blown up or some shit, because he’s here. Where Mickey can see him. And Ian doesn’t even refuse to talk to him, so there’s that fear scratched off as well (and Mickey never even dared to dream it but it seems Ian hasn’t stopped loving him and that’s like fucking angels singing under his skin and it isn’t even the goddamn point, because he refuses to be selfish about this shit anymore, but _fuck_ it feels good.)

So instead of this fucking fear and guilt and hopelessness eating him up from the inside, there’s this weird new life with Ian. And no matter how fucked up it is, it feels like his new everyday life, like he could stay like this forever. Ian going to his stupid stripper job (”I’m a dancer, Mick, it’s not the same thing”), which Mickey’s less happy about. Mickey sometimes coming with, sometimes not. In this new life he gets to see Ian before going to bed, Ian on the mattress and Mickey on the floor (no matter how many times Ian nags him ”Let’s at least switch! It’s not fair you have to sleep on the floor every night”, because there’s _no more being selfish_ and Mickey’s already too worried about Ian to force him to get his 3 hours of sleep on a cold as balls and uncomfortable as shit floor. When Mickey finally agrees to sleep in bed with Ian it’s partly to try to get the younger boy to fucking _relax_ and just sleep for a full night.)

In the morning when he wakes up, in this new life, the first thing he does is look up at the bed to see if Ian’s still in it. Usually he isn’t, gone out running at whatever fucked up time of the morning and Mickey moves out of bed to get on with his own business until Ian returns from wherever he’s gone. The days Mickey looks up to see Ian in bed though, serenity enters him and wraps all the way around his being. But he’s quick on his feet in any case, not letting his eyes rest on Ian’s calm figure for too long, because if he could he’d probably be content with laying there looking at this stupid beautiful redhead wonder until the day he fucking died but holy fuck that’s so fucking gay and also most days Ian’s brothers are still in the room with them. So he grabs whatever clothing's closest to him on the floor and goes to piss, showers if he smells. He and Gallagher hang out when they can, fuck when they can. Sometime midday Mickey swings by the Alibi, checks on the girls, has a couple of drinks. Shit’s the same over there. But when he’s finished, he goes to Ian’s house instead of his own. If Ian’s not out jogging or catching snowflakes or whatever the fuck the kid’s up to now a days, they hang out some more, fuck some more. Whether or not Mickey’s coming with Ian to the club on the particular night, they eat dinner together, or yeah the pathetic excuse for dinner Ian’s siblings have been able to scramble together. Not that Mickey would call it eating together though, it’s not like they’re making an effort or anything, it aint no candlelit, fabric napkins shit, but if he happens to shove a cannelloni down his throat at the same time Ian does that’s fine with him.

Something he really likes about the new life is kissing Ian. Since that night Mickey’d practically carried him home from the club and after they’d re-broken the physical barrier, kissing had come quickly. Mostly before, during and after sex of course, Mickey’s not going to allow some fucking PDA-mush-fest however little Ian says the Gallaghers care. He knows how fast words travel in this side of town and he’d like to stay alive long enough to enjoy being really fucking happy for once in his life, and frankly that’s not how he and Ian work. But yeah, they’ve never kissed like this before, it’s never been a set part of their routine. But since the make out session at Ian’s club, it’s deliciously frequent. Mickey swears he’s fucking high off of it. Because it’s more than just his lips and Ian’s lips and his tongue and Ian’s tongue, it’s Ian’s abs against him and it’s pulling at the hair on the back of Ian’s head and it’s breathing Ian’s air and all of it is affirmations that Ian’s here, with him.  
         Also it is usually accompanied by sex and it’s not like Mickey’s not over the fucking moon about that. Mickey thinks they may have broken their own record of number of fucks per day by now, numerous times around the house and more often then not at least one round at Ian’s club or some other place. He won’t deny he’s pretty pleased with himself. Sex is always present in the new life; always just an intense look or a locking of a door away, playing like wildfire under their skin, in the smiles tugging at their lips, in the silent words their eyes speak. Whenever they fuck now a days they end up laughing during, still in shock of how fucking good it is. Like when Ian hits Mickey's prostate from a new angle and it just kind of knocks the wind out of him in a way where he can’t keep a straight face, and they both end up breathlessly chuckling until it gets too good again and they have to bite their lips not to scar Ian’s siblings with the noises they’d be making, letting pleasure shut their eyes and doing their best at silencing the grunts and whines trying to escape from the back of their throats. They do it in the bathroom most of the time, the lock trusty enough to minimize the chances of being walked in upon. It’s also their best bet at night, when Ian’s brothers are in their beds and within definite earshot, way too likely to spill whatever they may see or hear. When they do it in the bathroom, Mickey’ll steady himself by his arms on the sink, or the faucet of the bath or Ian will fuck him so his back is up against the bricks that make up the wall. If they end up alone on the second floor during the day, they’ll do it in Ian’s bed, pushing a chair or something under the doorknob just in case. They’d fucked in what Ian told him was Lip’s room when Ian’s older sister had been in the shower and Carl or whatshisname had been hogging Ian’s bedroom with some dumb friend, throwing soda-cans up in the air and smashing them with a baseball bat (which was actually pretty cool if he was being honest with himself). Ian had sucked him off in the kitchen once, when all the Gallaghers had left for school at the same time, but he’d had to all but jump off Mickey’s dick and back up against the fridge when the oldest Gallagher sister came walking down the stairs with the black kid, Mickey luckily zipping up his jeans before she’d even noticed they were home.

When Ian had first gotten back, Mickey didn’t know what to think about the sex situation. It wasn't his main priority this time around, uncertain if Ian would even speak to him again let alone reentering this mess of a… relationship with him. But for all of them knowing each other, sex had been their fucking language and he wasn’t sure who the fuck they were without it, but all he knew was he certainly wasn’t even remotely thinking about sex with Ian’s eyes looking dead and empty and resentful. The immense pull of sadness that roamed Mickey’s body when Ian was being thrown around by old fags that didn’t care how fucking weak and helpless he was and were obviously not gonna care about it when they’d taken him back to their place and gotten him into bed either… that was enough to turn Mickey off for good measure and more or less make Ian a completely un-sexual individual for him. He just wanted to take care of him, and that was fucking scary because Mickey didn’t know shit about taking care of anyone, and certainly not someone that seemed this fucking lost and broken and like mere shatters of the brave kid that had turned his life upside down to begin with. Shit he was in over his head with this.

The first time they fucked since Ian came back had been easier than Mickey’d imagined though. Passing the line between looking at Ian like he was a sad used-up shell of a person to a fire lighting in the pit of his stomach and air not reaching his lungs because of all the pure _want_ , had come as effortlessly as each other time they’d recovered from hurting one another. An underlying feeling of something being unspoken lay between them, but it grew smaller. Like it didn’t matter as much as they’d originally thought. And besides, it isn't like Mickey can name half a fucking thing that _isn’t_ unspoken between them. For all he knows, the only words that were ever going to really be spoken about the whole mess had been spoken that night, with Ian spinning him around and getting in his space, avoiding his gaze but looking mutely at Mickey’s lips. The air being passed between their lips in that long moment was the only noise heard in the Milkovich house in the dead of night. The process of undressing and getting into bed had been slower than usual for them, but as determined as ever- touches soft but forceful as they alternated between kissing slowly, and quietly breathing each others air. It was kind of unique actually. Sometimes their eyes would lock with the other’s, but for the most part they were closed, or searching for something undefined just below the other man’s gaze. After they finished, simultaneously, they didn’t really say anything, sharing cigarette after cigarette wordlessly. It wasn’t an awkward or guilty silence though, more calm than anything. Like a sort of uncertain happiness creeping back into their bodies. The two of them went out into the kitchen and had some leftovers, talking now- or really whispering, not wanting to wake anyone- like nothing had fucking happened at all and they were back to being them again. Then they went back into his room, laying down on their respective beds on the mattress and floor, but not falling asleep. Mickey remembers both of them still being awake when Svetlana or Mandy or whoever started rustling in the kitchen, making breakfast.

Ian seems happy, Mickey thinks, and that makes him happy too. He tries his best to ignore the weird new habits Ian’s picked up, and how he acts like a total nut-job every 5 minutes. He knows that they need to eventually have an actual conversation about what the fuck is going on, but Mickey doesn’t want to push Ian in any way that might equal _away_ from him. He figures he’ll just more or less wait it out. He takes what he can get in the new life, focuses on the good stuff, god knows it’s good enough to just barely put this other shit that’s weighing down on him out of his mind. Like always Ian is scaring him shitless and at the same time making him the only real kind of brave he’s ever been. The new life is a fucking blessing, that’s for sure. If Mickey believed that good things lasted he’d put all his hope into this thing being endless. Life’s never been easy on him, and there’s fucking always going to be things to be scared of, but when he’s got Ian around and alive and with him, all of the other shit seem to shrink to a bearable format. And that scares Mickey too, but he refuses to care, because deep down he knows that Ian is literary all that fucking matters.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you like it! you'll find me at abirdgaveittome.tumblr.com if you like.
> 
> <3 xo


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